Parting Gift
by yadon
Summary: While waiting with Mia for her to catch a train back to Kurain for Christmas, Diego Armando presents her with a gift. She finds it entirely predictable—until, as she's learned to do, she turns her thinking around and discovers his true purpose for seeing her off. [pre-relationship Miego, Christmas-y fluff and humor; headcanons abound; cover photo commission from rl friend]


"I totally understand. Don't worry about me." Mia paces around her dorm, rifling through her mind for a solution as she listens to her best friend apologize for the fifth time.

Ema has pink eye, and that means Lana will be driving her to the clinic for antibiotics instead of dropping Mia off at the train station.

Lana's apology continues, strong and unyielding as any testimony she's given as the renowned detective she's become. "I have to get her to the clinic before it closes at three. You know, Christmas Eve. And it's contagious; even if I were to pick you up after I take her, I wouldn't want you in the same car until I clean it, and—"

"Lana, it's __fine__. I have another way to get to the train station. Not a big deal." More like she has three hours to __figure out__ another way or else it'll __become__ a big deal, but Mia Fey is not in the business of admitting defeat without even trying.

"I'll make it up to you, I prom— Ema, stop rubbing at it, __please__!" In the background, there's the sound of Ema whining that it __hurts so much__ combined with the car radio's muffled melody of "All I Want for Christmas is You". "I have to go, Mia. Call me when you get to Kurain, okay? Merry Christmas."

"Of course. Merry Christmas, Lana."

* * *

Mia screams into her pillow as the fourth cab service she's called has told her, after twelve minutes on hold, that there's a two hour wait with it being one of the busiest travel days of the year. And of __course__ the bus whose route passes just three blocks from the station only runs on weekdays, and it's a Saturday.

Everyone else in her dorm has already gone home for the holidays, except for the sophomore on the first floor whose daily outfit is a t-shirt reeking with B.O. and equally disgusting slogans like "Just Two Girls Short of Threesome." She'd rather walk the five miles with a stone in her boots than sit in a car for even a second with him.

And she __would__ have started walking already, but her rolling suitcase is impossibly heavy, crammed full of four years of college memories.

 _ _Think Mia, think.__ Her mind wanders as she's on hold with yet another—what will be the last—cab service she's calling. After that she __will__ start walking, overloaded suitcase and all, because nothing is going to keep her from seeing her sister.

It takes more than the impossible to unravel her, at this point. After all, she's about to graduate top of her class, and drew only praise from those she'd worked with while interning at Grossberg Law Offices.

The fleeting thought of her former, and hopefully future employer, causes her pause.

She hangs up, and immediately pulls up Grossberg's office number, staring at it for several seconds as the possibility roots itself and steadily grows. Would __he__ be willing to give her a ride to the station? It __is__ Christmas Eve, and he may be busy, but he knows damn well that a quick car ride is the least he owes her.

There's no way he can turn her down.

If she can get ahold of him.

She hits the dial button, chanting __please answer please answer__ under her breath and right as the call is about to click to voicemail, a familiar voice on the other end slides smoothly into her ear. "Grossberg Law Offices."

Mia's breath catches and her eyes widen. "M-Mr. Armando?"

She's not sure what's she's in more disbelief about—that the office is open at all, or that it's Diego Armando answering the phone. Well, she supposes, without her around to do a lot of the administrative work, __someone__ has to.

And the front desk phone __is__ only steps away from the office percolator.

"Hm, now, what can I help Miss Mia Fey with? Legal woes? Or... no, doing some last minute Christmas shopping, and need some hints? I never say no to a new mug, but if you're looking for something for Robbo, he could use some more of that junk he trots off as hair color. Gray's comin' back in, and fast. Ha..! But I guess I could be to blame, huh, Kitten?"

Ugh, the "Kitten" nickname would be far less charming if she knew Diego wasn't saying it with that sly baring of teeth he called a smile. The one that she was adamant to stay immune to, but at the same time recalled far too often to believe she was doing a halfway decent job of it.

"I wouldn't doubt it," Mia agrees. "And no, I don't need anything like that. I was just... er, what are you doing at the office, anyway?"

"Last time I checked, I __work__ here."

"You know what I mean! It's Christmas Eve. I... I didn't even think the office would be open right now."

Diego clears his throat exaggeratedly—or, for Mr. Grossberg, normally—and adopts Mr. Grossberg's wishy-washy grumble of a voice "You see, Ms. Fey, it __is__ Christmas Eve and only a complete workaholic would still be in the office right now."

She laughs despite herself; Diego's impersonations of not just his fellow firm members, but of basically anyone they've come in contact with never fail to coax at least a faint smile from Mia. "You have a case...?"

Diego's tone returns to casual smugness. "Excellent deduction. Just got it yesterday. Crime doesn't take holidays."

"It... so Mr. Grossberg isn't there right now?"

"Nah, he's not comin' back around until Wednesday. Are you suggesting ol' Marvin can help you with something but I can't?" There's a pause—just long enough for someone to take a sip of coffee. "You wound me, Mia. After all we've been through..."

She'd acted as Diego's co-counsel on two cases from the late summer into the fall, and more often than not as the mediator in a law firm filled with three very distinctly different personalities. There's not much Mia doesn't know about the man behind the caffeine addiction, and in turn, there's very little Diego Armando doesn't know about her—including the connection to Marvin Grossberg and Robert Hammond that was formed long before she'd set foot into their offices.

Her pride takes a backseat to the fact that there's a twelve-year old girl with a star-bright smile waiting for her arrival. So Mia explains her situation, taking great care to reinforce that Lana would never leave her stranded like this if it weren't extenuating circumstances; Diego hardly needs another reason to disapprove of the detective who's made his career as hard to handle as a fresh cup of joe without a sleeve.

"Heh, well isn't this just the wildest coincidence. That case I just took? The scene of the crime and your Point A are one and the same. I was even thinking about going down there for a bit of investigating; they have a nice little coffee shop in the station, to boot. Can't think of a finer way for either of us to kill an hour or two."

"Diego... er, Mr. Armando, look, if you have your case to work on... That is, if it's too much of a hassle for you..."

" _ _Hassle__?!" he repeats incredulously. "There's a lot of ways to describe a coffee break, and not one of them is hassle. Besides, the holidays are like coffee: only good if you savor it with someone else. Am I right?"

"You are." Maya's grinning face popping into her mind, before a new thought crosses it: Was Diego admitting, in the psuedo-philosophical way he always fell back on when discussing matters of life, that he hadn't anyone to spend Christmas Eve with?

"Glad to hear. Alright, so from what I remember, it's about fifteen minutes from here to your dorm. I'll see you in... eighteen?"

Mia doesn't have to ask; she already knows that three minutes is the optimum amount of time Diego likes to take to enjoy a cup of coffee.

* * *

Mia enters Java Junction feeling severely underdressed.

Not in the professional sense, but in __festivity__.

It's wall-to-wall merry and bright, glittery oversized snowflakes dangling from the ceiling and a lush trail of garland snaking along the bar counter. Canvas paintings hang on the walls, which Mia assumes, much like the artwork in the coffee shop on campus, are products for sale from local artists. All of them are at the very least winter-themed, if not specific to a holiday.

It's also empty, which doesn't surprise Mia with only one train—hers—leaving any time soon. She can't imagine there'd be anyone else with a ticket for Kurain Village.

A petite girl with a blunt-cut bob is in the midst of grinding coffee beans, and looks up as the two of them near the register. A broad smile curves her pierced upper lip.

"Hey, Diego! Back already?"

"Yeah. Everyone else is gonna be up watching for Ol' Saint Nick, but I'll be hunting for leads. You're not closing anytime soon, are you?"

"Not until seven. You can hang around as long as you need to."

"Great. Spicy mocha for me, Jillian. Throw an extra shot in there, I think I'll need it tonight." He reads Mia's mind all too easily, a quick glance in her direction before adding, "And hook her up with that ginger chai."

"With almond milk, please," Mia puts in, meeting Diego's eyes for a moment. An amused laugh leaves his nose. He pays Jillian and stuffs a dollar bill into the tip cup.

They wait at the end of the bar as Jillian sets to work. The whirring milk frother and grind of the espresso machine prompts Mia to step closer towards Diego than she's prepared to, to ask him, "So I take it you're a regular here?"

"You could say that," he replies. "It's been a while, but I guess I'll be earning that regular status again over the next couple days. Their lattes are so good, I'd even drink them half-caf."

Mia laughs quietly, watching as Jillian tops Diego's mocha with a cloud of whipped cream and a sprinkling of chips. Then she looks over to him, a thought surfacing. "This is the shop you always mention, isn't it?"

He nods, emitting a small "mhm" as he takes his drink from the bar and mouths off a clot of the whipped cream.

More than a few times, Diego had provided stories about his first job: following in his uncle's footsteps as a porter at this very train station. He was already a caffeine addict by then, and Java Junction was where he'd get his daily (or, according to him, hourly) fix.

He'll never admit to being terribly sentimental, but he doesn't have to, not with his loyalty to Mr. Grossberg, and with actions like this. Though she doesn't know any further details, Mia doubts very much that Diego has taken this case based on any connection to the defendant, and it's certainly never because of the pay. The __scene__ of the murder, on the other hand...

The rich aroma of ginger greets Mia as her drink is placed on the counter. Inhaling its glorious, spicy-sweet scent, she hopes it tastes half as good as it smells.

She takes a slow, testing first sip. The milky warmth is comforting, wrapping around her like a blanket. "This is perfection," she sighs out dreamily.

"Glad you think so; my visit here yesterday was anything but, even with never-ending refills of their holiday blend. Guess I've made the naughty list this year, because all I've gotten with this case so far is no answers and a new __friend__." The way Diego emphasizes the final word tells Mia their occupation. "Which reminds me..."

Diego pulls a five from his coat pocket, and reaches over the bar's high counter, where Jillian is wiping down the espresso machine. The bill flaps tantalizingly between two of his fingers. "Here, Jillian, tuck this away. I'm sure you'll be seeing the boys—and lady—in blue sometime soon. When they come snooping around, Detective Starr's latte is on me."

"Detective Starr?" Mia pipes up.

"A new flatfoot to bond with—although this one prefers high heels. Y'know, seeing as how Skye's palling around with the big shots now, they had to give Tex a new __pardner.__ " He drawls the last word out derisively; the wound from his recent loss still scalds like spilling a full cup over himself.

Because his defeat was Lana and Neil's gain. It was Diego's defendant—a teenage boy, and old family friend of his—who'd been cleared of murder charges, but proven perfectly guilty as an accessory to the crime committed by Lorenzo Cadaverini, a top name in one of LA's most prominent mafia families.

Since, Cadaverini has been tried and sentenced, Lana's been promoted to Senior Investigator, Prosecutor Marshall is making a name for himself, and Diego is taking cases no other defense attorneys will. On Christmas Eve no less, all to prove that trusting in your client until the bitter end doesn't make him half as slimy or underhanded as he's been painted to be.

Mia knows a thing or two about sullied reputations, and there's nothing stopping her from commiserating with Diego, except... he's not the type to want comfort, no, just a remedy. And for whatever reason, bringing her here, treating her to coffee (well, chai) seems to be just that, judging by how calm he is, for how on edge he __should__ be.

And she realizes too, as they wander to the far end of the shop, to a beaten-up pistachio green couch, how at ease __she__ is, compared to the rampant tension that had been surging through her only an hour ago.

A wide window stretches above the couch, providing an excellent view of the tracks. Mia pauses, slowly sipping her ginger chai, and stares out into the fading evening. Diego, meanwhile, has gotten comfortable, unpacking his bag and spreading the case files out on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Her attention moves to them—certainly nothing to do with Diego slipping his coat off to reveal a forest green henley, rumpled to the same degree as his thick hair.

He notices, and makes a lame attempt at shielding the files from Mia's view. "No peeking."

Rolling her eyes, she plops down on the couch beside him, shedding her own jacket and scarf. "Really, Mr. Armando, you invite a girl to a coffee shop, hinting at a complex case... you can't just lead her on like that."

She's only joking with him, yet there's this weird, unbidden tingling in Mia's chest that doesn't correlate with __kidding around__.

It strengthens when he replies with a chuckle, but then immediately dies out when he informs her, "Oh, Kitten... you don't want anything to do with this case."

If this had been back in the late summer, when they'd first met, she might be insulted. Might have felt Diego was being condescending, and dismissing her as nothing but an inexperienced __student__.

But right now, if it's anything, it's just __sad__ , as she can hear he means it more as "You don't want anything to do with this case, with __me.__ "

Has he really let this recent defeat affect him so terribly? And since when had __she__ been able to spot this; that is, when had the enigma known as Diego Armando become something less of a mystery, someone she's figured out quite a bit of and still felt terribly intrigued by?

Mia puts on her bravest face. "Mr. Armando, I am perfectly capable of assisting you."

"You're 'perfectly capable' of everything you set out to do; that's not what I'm worried about." He gestures to her suitcase resting a few feet away, against the bar counter. "But you won't be able to research much, if at all, while in Kurain," he says, alluding to the lack of technology present in her backwards hometown.

"I could always leave the day after Christmas. There's an early train, I'd get there in time for the trial, and—!"

"Mia." Diego raises a flattened hand to cut her off. "Nor __should__ you have to do any research, what, with the holidays. I'll grin it and bear it, and call up Grossberg if worst comes to worst. But don't think I don't appreciate your support. It might be the only thing more energizing than the cold brew I have stored up at home, to take with me to the trial."

Coming from Diego, that's no small compliment, and she can't help the smile that spreads wide.

Diego is mid-sip of his mocha. He quickly swallows and makes to point at her best he can with fingers curled around his cup. "There you go, you've got the right idea."

"I do?" She has no idea what she's done, until Diego manages a disarmingly attractive crooked smile of his own.

"Smiling. No matter how bad it gets, I can't let Tex think he's won before he's even called his key witness to the stand. Wouldn't be much of a lawyer if I only bluffed with my words."

Mia chooses her next move wisely. Scolding Diego for his compulsive need to antagonize Neil Marshall and his detective partners is a dead end. For as much as he 'doesn't want to talk about the case', it's awfully plain that he __needs__ to talk, about the case except not __really__ about it.

She tries something vague, innocent. Completely non-confrontational. "What's the witness like?"

"Well, I couldn't tell ya, since I haven't met them. I don't even know their name. It's just what Starr told me. Someone who can point to the defendant's movements and actions in the hour preceding the crime." Diego picks up some of the notes he has laid out, and Mia can make out scribbles of phrases like ' _ _single gunshot wound'__ and ' _ _keys?__ ' "I almost miss Skye; at least she was willing to fight fair—well, when you were involved, she was."

Mia fidgets a bit. "Is it __really__ that bad?"

"You tell me: Defendant with a criminal background—he's been on work release for only two months—and a locked room murder? They'll try to bury him based on the first factor alone, never mind the actual charges. I hate to say it's hopeless, but..."

"But you still took it. You believe in him, don't you?"

It's a touchy topic; after all, Diego's previous client had been someone he'd believed in for years, far before the trial. And that faith and loyalty had been betrayed, put a noticeable chink in the armor of Diego's untouchable confidence.

Diego tilts his head slightly and messes with the lid of his mocha, looking between it and Mia as he speaks. "What I believe is that he deserves to be heard. I've talked to him, and he says he didn't do it. Says he's trying to turn his life around, and seems genuine enough about it, but still... that's the kind of stuff you hear dime a dozen. I have, at least."

He's already told Mia pieces of his past, a difficult enough endeavor. To reference them again, even indirectly, is no small concession, she knows.

She sets her chai on the coffee table, reaches to touch Diego's arm carefully. "Something made you take the case, though."

"Because the odds are stacked against him. Always have been, he says, and feels like they always will be. You should hear him, Mia, just how battered and broken he is. He's nothing, a nobody. He needs to know that he's __somebody__ , for once in his damn life. You can tell, without a doubt, he never has."

"And that's where you come in."

"Yeah." His smile turns rueful. "So much for not talking about the case, huh?"

"It's fine. I kind of got hit by a wave of nostalgia, for a second." She laughs, but her words are sincere. She __is__ reminiscing about the many hours they spent discussing their previous cases. So often in coffee shops similar to this one. "How 'bout you?"

"You mean good coffee and better company? Plotting how to outsmart the sheriff and his posse?" Diego finishes off his mocha and sets the cup down, his focus entirely on Mia now. "See, this is exactly why I don't want you bothering with this case; you have much more important people to concern yourself with back in the village."

Her smile grows, and she can't keep that joy out of her voice. "Yeah... I can't wait to see Maya. And Pearl, too. Gosh, you know this'll be only the second time I've seen her. I know I'm just gonna want to bring them both back with me, keep them with me forever. They'd do so much better here, but..."

 _ _But they have obligations__. Which is appalling, that a pre-teen and a toddler have such things, and even more so that Mia is powerless to do much about it. For now. Someday, though. Someday when it's not what it is now, when...

"It's so complicated..." she finishes out loud.

"Hey..." Diego hands her a clean napkin from the table. "I can't speak for chai, but tears don't mix well with coffee."

Mia touches an edge of the napkin to the corner of her eye. She's not __crying__ , but the napkin comes away damp and smudged with eyeshadow. Ugh... "Sorry," she says, feeling more foolish than she would in front of anyone else. The best excuse she has is reminding Diego, "Today's been kind of... __long__."

"But you've still got plenty of the day left. Sometimes the best is yet to come," Diego says, smiling in a knowing way.

This almost strikes Mia as some obtuse coffee metaphor, but for once, it might not be. All she knows is that while typically the bottom of coffee cups contains dregs, the end of her day will be filled with hugs and laughter.

"Yeah," she agrees, already beginning to settle. "And if I'm going to be a lawyer—"

" _ _If__?"

"When I'm a lawyer, I can't cry, right?" She remembers the stiff upper lip Diego had kept upon his loss just a little over a month ago. How she'd never seen him so close to tears—tears of frustration, anger, but tears nonetheless. And what he'd told her when they had returned to the office that evening, Mia's last day of her internship.

"Only when it's over _ _.__ And for you, Ms. Fey, it's __far__ from over."

She __hopes__ that's the case. She's certain she aced her bar exam, more certain than she's been about almost anything in her life (except maybe her decision to become a defense attorney in the first place).

Diego sounds just as confident, this spark in his eye that he usually reserves for court. The aura from her Magatama pendant has long since died out, but she can still practically feel the anticipation rolling off him; he's hiding something, something he's dying for her to search for. As much as he loves the thrill of the chase, she knows well enough how he takes just as much satisfaction from being pursued, especially when he's sure he has the advantage.

She just has to find the right way to pull it out of him, and her answer lies just a couple feet away.

Beside the couch sits a huge cube, over six feet tall and broken into a grid of smaller cubes, four by four. It's a cross between a bookshelf and storage unit, with the upper sections shoved full of secondhand books, the lower ones piled with board games.

"Mr. Armando." Mia stands and moves to crouch down and browse through the board games, talking the whole time. "What I can assure you is definitely __not__ over is our time together today, and as much as you've been through lately, it sounds like you're in need of a brief recess. Motion to adjourn for the time being?"

'Ha...! Motion sustained," Diego replies at the same time Mia makes a great discovery.

"Ooh! Clue! I haven't played that since...oh, well, I guess since sophomore year. We had it in the common room. But then the candlestick and revolver went missing. We found it on the last day of the semester, when we were cleaning the dorms out."

'I don't think you've told me this one." Diego is looking at her with vested interest. It's true, she __does__ tell him way too many anecdotes about her four years in college, but only because the part of her life prior to it that isn't exactly worth mentioning... or, too much to simply __mention__.

"Yeah, this girl, Ashley White, she ended up finding the pieces in, of all places, the silverware drawer in the kitchen. I still can't figure out how they ended up there, but..."

"Miss White, in the kitchen, with the knife?"

Mia starts laughing too, and the two of them laughing together warms her even more than the chai. When her giggles fade, she asks, "So, Clue, then?"

"As enjoyable as it is, Clue's not quite the same with only two people," Diego says. "And it could take a little long; I believe you asked for a __brief__ recess."

"Oh, true. Let's see..." Mia checks a different cube, and between Mancala and something called the Crazy Cat Lady game, she finds the narrow, partially destructed box of Guess Who. "Aha!"

She brings the game to the table, taking the lid off and passing Diego the tray on top. Blue. Collecting the cards strewn about the box, she sits down and starts to shuffles them in a half-assed manner.

"Now, the instructions say you're supposed to pick a card at random, but—"

"As shocking as it may be, Ms. Fey, I don't have any set way that I play Guess Who. If there's any minor alterations you want to make, go for it."

She gives him the stack, watching expectantly. "I was hoping you'd say that. Go on. Pick a card, any card."

Diego sighs, thumbing through the stack of cards until, "Ha, here we go." He clutches his chosen card close, assumably so Mia can't get a peek, and hands the rest back. Mia selects the top card: Alex, a man who looks every bit the stereotype of a French waiter.

As they arrange the cards in their appropriate slots, Diego asks precisely what Mia has been fishing for. "So, what do I get if I win?"

"Well, what would you __like__?"

"Oh, I don't know," he says with a smile betraying that statement; he knows perfectly well. "Maybe that prank call to Skye you never followed through on when that first victory of ours against her and the cowpoke caused you to celebrate in a rather __influenced__ manner."

Heat flares across her cheeks. She'd almost forgotten about that incident, but leave it to Diego not to. The last thing she wants is to try and explain to Lana sometime in the near future the reason behind a random phone call asking if her refrigerator is running or if she likes scary movies. "Hm, good thing you won't be winning, then. Now, when __I__ win, I'd like you to admit to the real reason you brought me here today."

"So... you don't think I did this out of courtesy? Out of convenience? That we both needed to be here today, for different reasons, and it got taken care of?"

"Quite frankly, no, Mr. Armando. I don't." No, wrong. "Or, I __do__ , but... I think you have an ulterior motive, as well. You didn't bring me here to help with the case, as you've made apparent, and—"

"Although you have helped, I can assure you. As you always find a way to, Kitten."

He's trying to get off easy, with his __compliments__ and his nicknames. "Yes, I...you're welcome. But there's more. I know there is. And you're going to tell me, when I win."

"I am, am I?"

"Yes, you are."

Diego doesn't flinch at her proposition. He just studies her for a moment, as if something's changed about her. "Okay. You have a deal. And I'll even throw in another ginger chai, as a bonus. Let's see if this kitten can prowl around with the big cats."

Mia settles back on one side of the couch, red tray propped up in her lap. "Bring it on, Armando. The defense is ready."

Diego makes himself equally as comfortable on his side of the couch. "Ladies first."

Fine with her, if he's so sure of himself. She gets the obligatory first question out of the way. "Is your person male?"

"A definite __no__."

Mia happily flips down all the male tabs on her tray.

Diego's turn, and he fires back with, "Is __your__ person male?"

"Yes." __Clack. Clack clack clack clack.__ Ugh, he's definitely doing that louder than he needs to. But Mia keeps her smile intact, doesn't let him see even the smallest flicker of annoyance in her expression. "Is she a brunette?" _ ___

A nod. "Not all gentlemen prefer blondes." _ _Clack clack clack.__ It's Diego's turn again, but instead of going, he reaches for Mia's chai and takes a slow, thoughtful sip. "Hm, not bad."

Mia keeps from commenting how he should try approaching his case with the same relaxed intent. Of course, this game isn't holding the fate of an already-disadvantaged defendant in its hands. "Come on, Armando, stop stalling."

"Alright, alright. Does he look like a punk?"

"Objection!" she blurts out. "What sort of question is that?!"

"Ha...! Just keeping you on your toes, Ms. Fey." Diego smirks and takes another sip. "But still, an answer, if you please: __comparatively__ , to the other selections, does he look like a shady type?"

"I..." Mia's gaze darts about as she does her best to size up the other male cards versus Alex. She tries to imagine if she met Alex somewhere randomly, like at the grocery store or even on the train this evening. What would she think if he suddenly started talking to her? "Yes. Sure. I guess you could say he would qualify as someone with questionable character."

"Is your person Neil Marshall?"

" _ _Seriously__ , Diego!" The rules of Guess Who dictate only one specific guess—if you get it right, you win; wrong, you lose—but somehow Mia can't bring herself to count this. It wouldn't be what she would consider "fair and square." Plus she's more than a little curious about the card Diego __did__ choose.

"I woulda said Rob, but—"

"Are you even __trying__ to win this?"

"Yes and no." Unbelievable, how only Diego can answer with that and have it make total sense. "Now, does __your__ fellow have dark hair?"

After the moment it takes to dawn on Mia that he construed her question as the one for her turn, she fixes him with a death glare.

He just laughs, and she hates how much she __doesn't__ hate him for it. "I'm just 'kitten' around, Kitten. Your turn."

Mia scans through her dark-haired female-only lineup There's a plethora of questions she could ask to narrow it down even more, but she's beyond that. Enough of these shenanigans, she's going in for the kill. It's all or nothing, win or lose. "Is your person Maria?"

"What? How did you—?!" Diego's visible shock finishes his question, and Mia triumphantly flips down all her cards save for the young brunette, whose name is two letters off her own.

Mia shoves her tray aside to the coffee table, and does a little victory dance, a sitting version of the cabbage patch. If only she had some confetti to throw into the air.

"That's where your pride gets you, Mr. Armando," she chides Diego playfully. "So take __that__! Mia rules, Diego drools, that's all she wrote."

"Very mature; no wonder you don't drink coffee." His barb is hardly cruel; if anything, he's disappointed—probably for the fact he'll miss out on that prank call to Lana. "It's for adults only, you know, not little children who brag about winning board games."

"Aw, is someone a sore loser?" Mia pouts her bottom lip out, blinks at him with sad, puppy-dog eyes.

"Hm, trust me when I say I hardly consider this a loss." He sets aside his own tray, rises, and looks down at Mia. "So, Ms. Fey, you wanted to know the 'real reason' for my bringing you here today; that's what you've been waiting for, right?"

"Yes, I believe it is," she says proudly.

"Well, good things come to those who wait." And turning just quick enough that Mia can't catch the smirk she knows is there, Diego crosses the coffee shop and exits.

* * *

Diego returns, orders another mocha (and stuffs another dollar in the tip jar for Jillian), then sits back down beside Mia. "...But the best things come to those who can't stand to wait and go after it themselves. That's one of my rules. Here."

She barely avoids a snort-laugh, at how only Diego could get away with such a long intermission in his sentence, while relaying one of his __rules__. And just as hilarious is the misshapen mess of pointsettia-print wrapping paper and too much scotch tape that he hands her.

"You bought me a Christmas present?" Mia can't say it hadn't crossed her mind, to buy something for Diego, but she hadn't expected to see him at any point before returning to Kurain. And the only thing she could think to buy him was a gift card to the coffee shop by the office. Which, he would have loved it, but it felt terribly impersonal, from her end.

"It's a present, that I'm happening to give you today, Christmas Eve. But it's not a Christmas gift, per se."

"Alrighty." Without taking any more time to decide if she believes him or not, she slides her nail under a seam, and tears it open with ease.

It's exactly the kind of present she would expect to both give to and receive from Diego Armando: a coffee mug. In fact, it's the very same coffee mug Mia used for her tea during her internship at Grossberg's. Hers was the one with the **w** slightly worn away so it looked more like it said **Grossberg Lav Offices**.

Appropriate for how often she found herself cleaning the bathroom.

"So...?" Diego asks, and the tone of his voice is the closest to nervous she's ever heard.

"Well, I wouldn't say I don't like it, but I'm a little disappointed, Mr. Armando. That you would give me my own coffee mug as a gift. Because it's hardly a surprise, and I thought you gained a great amount of satisfaction from surprises, the unexpected; keeping me on my toes, as you said."

"Rein it in there for a minute, Mia. It's not __your__ mug. It's the office's mug. And it just so happens to be the one you used when you worked there." Diego removes the lid from his new mocha, and slurps off the layer of whipped cream atop the drink. He licks the stripe of lingering cream from his lips before continuing.

"What's that you're always telling me about approaching my cases, about turning my thinking around? So, don't ask yourself why __you__ are in possession of that, ask why __anyone__ who's not an employee would be allowed to have such a hot commodity like a Grossberg Law Offices mug."

"They wouldn't," she says, running her thumb lightly along the mug's edge. And then, like the train she's about to board, it hits her full-force, and she nearly drops the mug. "Wh-what?! Y-You..?! Mr. Armando, are you serious?! You better not be playing a joke on me, or—"

"When am I not serious?"

Her skepticism is dripping over as she says, "And I quote, 'Does he look like a punk?'"

"Ha...! If you don't believe me, let's ask the man himself."

Before she can protest, Diego whips out his phone and presses a couple buttons. A few rings echo from the other end before Diego speaks again. "Hey old man, how's your holiday staycation treating ya? How many slices of fruitcake have you put away so far?"

He and Mia exchange humored glances, waiting for Grossberg to reply.

"Oh, no, everything's great... what, yeah, the case is a real headache but nowhere I haven't been before." There's the garbling of Mr. Grossberg's response, but Diego cuts him off. "Hold up, Marv, I'm not calling you to talk about the case. ...Then what? Well, remember how we were talking about bringing Fey on board? Yeah, exactly. Don't sweat on that anymore, I got it all taken care of."

Mia would gasp, if she could find the ability to even breathe.

"I can't?! Ha...! I just did. " Diego winks at Mia, confirming what they both know full well; that telling Diego Armando he "can't" do something is the ideal motivation for him to go right on and prove otherwise. "Hey, if you wanna call her after the results come in, just to put your mind at ease, go right ahead. Yeah. __Yeah__ , I know. You too, Marv. Merry Christmas."

He hangs up, setting his mocha aside on the coffee table. Then he takes the mug from her as well, placing it beside the mocha. And then... Mia can't believe that Diego's actually choosing to hold something in his hands other than a cup of coffee as his warm touch covers her knee, and it feels nerve-wracking but __right__ to let her own hand rest over his as he starts to speak.

"I knew ever since we worked on those cases, Mia. Before you even took your exams—which you're going to pass, by the way. It's all just semantics and procedure at this point; we can't file the paperwork for you to be a member of the firm until the state officially declares you a lawyer. But you're going to be one; you were __born__ to be one. And what's more, you're going to be one at Grossberg Law Offices."

This is the moment she's prepared for for... __years__. Almost twelve years, to the day, when her mother got ensnared in the web of DL-6. __This__ is what Diego meant, his rule; the best thing in her life is coming to her right __now__ because she couldn't stand around and and keep waiting, keep suffering and watching her family do the same.

It's happening. It's __really__ happening.

And then what really happens, without Mia thinking about it, is that she's up on her knees, so she's taller than Diego. Her arms fling around him, the momentum sending him slanting back into the corner of the couch. His shoulder is supportive, strong, but soft against her cheek pressed to it, and his hand is flat on the small of her back. For balance, she thinks at first, but then, no, it's the most he can manage a hug in return at the awkward angle he's been forced into.

"Thank you..." she murmurs, lifting her head and inhaling deeply. It feels like the first breath she's ever taken, like she wasn't even __alive__ before.

And it smells like coffee.

"Hey, I didn't do anything," he says as she withdraws, straightening up. "I'm just the messenger. You're the one who got yourself here."

"You helped," she tells him simply, meaning it. Him; Mr. Grossberg and Mr. Hammond; Lana and Prosecutor Marshall.

She picked the right people, and now someone, somewhere, might say the same about her one day—that they chose Mia Fey; the right person, the right __lawyer__.

Diego's voice is low, calm—for once, not threaded with any teasing and it makes her feel awfully special. "I was going to tell you all this, give you this today, before we even—"

"Before I kicked your ass at Guess Who?"

"Well. I was going to say 'before we played', but sure. When you called and asked me to bring you here, I knew it was the perfect chance. I thought you might want to hear the news from a friend and not a mumbly phone call from good ol' Marv. That's why I went to such great lengths to wrap it up so nice."

Mia picks the mug— _ _her__ mug—up. She turns it over and over in her hands, her thoughts doing the same until a certain one makes her laugh. "I don't know what to do with it now. I mean, besides carry it on the train and show it off to __everyone__ I run into."

"Tell you what, I'll take it back to the office with me. I'd hate for some jealous Alex-type to run off with it." Diego slowly extricates the mug from her fingers, and sets it on the coffee table once more. "It won't be going anywhere, that's for sure. Unlike you, going everywhere."

 _ _Going__. Mia looks up to the clock on the other side of the storage cube. "Oh..! It's almost time for—"

And almost on cue, her peripheral vision is filled with a piercing light from outside, steadily growing as a train pulls into the station. Even if she hadn't spotted the incoming train, she would have heard the whistle blast that leaves her ears ringing, even through the windows.

Scrambling to her feet, Mia nearly trips over the hem of the rug under the coffee table. Diego stands just in time to steady her.

"Where's the fire? It's just pulling up. You have time."

"Yes, I..." Really, she's too flooded with happiness, with excitement, to make sensible decisions. She looks at Diego, cursing herself—or really, him, for how flustered she's become. "I know. Er...sorry, I just..."

"It's fine," Diego says, grinning a grin that tells her she doesn't have to explain herself. Because in that moment, she can see it in his eyes—he was here before, himself. He'll always remember where he was when he got the news from Mr. Grossberg. Who he was with, what he was doing, and likely, what blend of coffee he was drinking.

"Yeah. It is."

She'll remember too.

* * *

After a quick stop to the restroom, Mia returns to the front door, where Diego is waiting with her jacket and suitcase. She throws her jacket on, and looks up at him.

"Well, I suppose this is goodbye, Mr. Armando."

"More of a 'see ya later'," Diego corrects her. "Have yourself a merry little Christmas, Ms. Fey."

"I will. You do the same." She tightens the belt of her jacket, and though stricken with an impulse to hug Diego again, she instead gives his arm a quick squeeze. Clutching her suitcase handle, Mia turns and exits Java Junction.

Her mind should be flying in a million different directions, but all Mia can think of is the game they just wrapped up. Of the questions they'd flung at each other to determine the identity of their choice card.

If one were to try and find Mia Fey tonight, the only question they would have to ask is, "Is she wearing the biggest, brightest smile in all of California?"

"Mia! Hold it!"

Mia whirls, sees Diego standing at the entrance, half-in and half-out. He's holding the ivory scarf Lana had given her for her birthday two weeks ago.

"Kitten forgot her collar."

Mia retraces her steps, suitcase in tow, and in her mind she knows what she must do; take her scarf, and thank Diego, and then turn, head off to the train.

Step one is easy, but step two...

She loops the scarf around her neck and that's when her throat feels so suddenly tight, her lips sealed shut—maybe there was glue in that chai. Yes, glue, she's sure of it, because now her __lungs__ won't work either, her breath stuck, trapped.

The silence is broken by a giggle in the background, and Mia peers beyond Diego to see the Jillian, observing them. Her eyes lock with Mia's, and slip slowly upward to the overhead awning. Mia's gaze follows.

Above them, dangling from the center of criss-crossed light wires, is mistletoe.

A low chuckle from Diego tells Mia he sees it too.

Her mind tells her to __move__ , to get out of the way, or maybe push Diego back inside so __he's__ out of the way. But something else—definitely not her mind, that's for sure—is keeping her pinned there, unable to flee or speak or do much of anything at all as Diego is the one moving. His head is tilting closer to hers, his __mouth__ is lowering towards her own, and for some reason her hand decides to raise to his chest, fingertips pressing softly at the dip in his shirt collar.

At the last moment, Diego's head turns away from her, and his lips touch the lid of his coffee cup. He draws a long sip from his mocha and swallows before regarding Mia. "I just love being caught under the mistletoe with my object of affection."

Mia swallows too, nothing but a thick helping of nerves. She blames the up-and-at-'em buzz racing through her on all the coffee oils of the shop, of the caffeine from her ginger chai finally kicking in.

"Really, Mia, you should try this. I mean, I __did__ try your chai, and it was much better than I expected. Maybe when you return from Kurain we can refill our Grossberg Law Office mugs here together?"

She realizes they're still standing far too close for comfort, and she doesn't let Diego see that realization for a second. "Well, seeing as you owe me a chai for my victory today, I'd say 'maybe' is more of a 'definitely'. This kitten needs her catnip." Mia's never considered herself a flirt by any stretch, but her playfulness could be taken as just that. And she can't say she minds.

"Ha...! As long as she keeps those claws sharpened for the courtroom. Hm, but..." His words drop off, for another sip of mocha.

"But...?"

In the next moment, the train's whistle splits the air, startling the both of them; Diego a little and Mia a lot, enough for her to let out an embarrassing " _ _Eek__!" She spins around to see the blinding headlights of the train cutting through the dusk, and the end of Diego's sentence reaches her.

"...But don't you have a train to catch?"

"Of course I do!" She takes a giant stride backwards, stumbling against her suitcase, but able to remain upright. She grips the handle, hoping it looks like she completely meant to do that. She oh-so-cleverly repeats herself from earlier with, "Goodbye, Mr. Armando."

She doesn't run, but hurries along as fast as her boots will allow her. They __can__ see her coming, can't they?

"Merry Christmas, Ms. Fey!"

"Wh..?! Merry Christmas!" Mia breathlessly calls back over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Diego's relaxed figure against the door frame. Infuriating, for how much __more__ breathless it momentarily makes her.

She reaches the train. The porter is giving her ticket the obligatory check, and even without looking, Mia knows Diego is surveying the whole scene from afar, completely seeing her off before he goes back inside. There's no reason she can think not to, so she raises both her head and her voice and shouts out, "And Happy New Year too!"

"The happiest!" he returns with the firmest conviction, raising his cup out towards Mia, as if toasting her.

The porter harries her to board, which she does in outstandingly discombobulated fashion, the heels of her boots hardly convenient for such rushed movement. She clutches the rail of the clangy metal steps, ignoring the porter's order for her to get herself inside the car. "And... and...!"

What she means to say is devoured by the thunderous whistle of the train as it chugs to life, but even with the distance separating them, she swears she sees Diego's mouth form, "You're welcome."

* * *

The journey to Kurain goes by in the blink of an eye, thanks to the combination of her scarf forming a rather comfortable makeshift pillow and a looped playlist of orchestral Christmas music humming from her earbuds. There are the occasional, though not entirely unwanted thoughts of, maybe it would be nice to be leaning against Diego's shoulder during this train ride, and not the rigid window sill.

There's also a gentle contentment as she considers that, for all she's worried about figuring this—her career, her relationships, her __life—__ out, she's been mostly able to do so as it comes, tiny fragments piecing together so long as she's both helped herself and sought help from the right places. After a decade of feeling like she was fighting for everything alone, she's gained the knowledge that while's she's more than capable of doing so, she doesn't __have__ to.

And now, with Mia Fey as a defense attorney, there will be others out there who won't have to fight alone either.

* * *

She's on the phone with Lana as she disboards, and after Lana confirms Ema was able to obtain medicine for her eyes, Mia bursts out with the news: that in a couple weeks, she will be a bonafide employee of Grossberg Law Offices. Lana is overflowing with congratulations and excitement, a little bit of which is teasingly directed at herself for being the one who Mia honed her skills against through mock trials, study sessions, and eventually the real deal in the courtroom.

Her call ends when her Maya comes flying onto the scene with a joyful squeal of "SIS!" and a bone-rattling hug that knocks the phone away and pushes tears of happiness from behind Mia's eyes.

She remembers what Diego said, about lawyers not crying until it was over.

But that's his rule, not hers, and she can't help crying because it's all finally begun.


End file.
